


don't speak; your mind is amazing

by bluewalk



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Psycho-Pass, Gen, Non-Chronological, characters to be added as we go, shippy fic that doesn't know it's gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewalk/pseuds/bluewalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the psycho-pass au no one asked for ; the miragen are only allowed to carry guns if the gun tells them what to do</p><p>01. a day in the life (aomine, kise, midorima; a raid) | 02. martyr complex (momoi doesn't have one) | 03. the oracle (sibyl speaks; midorima takes notes) | 04. halcyon days (murasakibara decides to let kise live)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a day in the life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aomine, kise, midorima; a raid

The engine cuts off, and with it, the radio. There's a beat of silence before Kise picks up where the song had left off, hitting every note of its infuriating, pop-y melody even without autotune as he unbuckles his seatbelt and lets himself out. Daiki runs a hand down his face and follows suit.

"They let you listen to the radio in rehab?" he asks over the roof of the car. He's judging, a little bit.

"Nope," Kise chirps. "They're afraid it'll give us ideas. But the nurses will let you get away with it, if you say please.”

Kise's smile is an expert slash of white in the dark of the alley behind the warehouse. Daiki rolls his eyes. Figures, with a face like that.

"At least be quiet when we're out in the field," he grumbles.

He walks around to the trunk, where Kise has already let the drone out. Kise’s stopped singing.

"If I be quiet, will Aominecchi arm me?"

Daiki puts the question on hold and punches in the code. The drone hisses open smoothly and he picks a Dominator from the rack, the shape and weight of it cold and familiar and perfect in his palm. He can feel the electricity behind Kise's gaze, charged enough to match the pulse in the circuits of the Dominator.

Daiki waits for the authentication system to ID him. Numbers and text he’s never bothered to read scroll rapidly across his field of vision, his badge number and headshot pull up, flashing briefly, and then he’s cleared.

The voice tells him to aim calmly. He points the Dominator between Kise's eyes.

Kise blinks.

_Crime co-efficient is 307. Subject is a target for enforcement action. Enforcement mode is Lethal Eliminator._

The safety disengages and the muzzle opens up like a jaw, glowing blue.

Daiki sighs. "Do something about that crazy number and we'll talk."

“Oh, is it especially high today?" Kise's smile doesn't falter and his irises seem expansive in the soft blue light. Bastard has to know he's clocking in at over 300; the Dominator doesn't bare its teeth for anything less.

"Do you give the other Inspectors this much trouble, or is it just me?"

"Aominecchi brings out the best in me."

"That's a funny way of putting it. And don't call me that." Daiki lowers his arm. The Dominator dims and folds back into itself--seemingly reluctantly, Daiki feels--once Kise is out of its cross-hairs. “Don’t mess this up," he warns.

He resolves to give Akashi major grief about Kise's assignment to the Unit, but for now there's a drug cartel to bust and he’s not going to let some rookie ruin it for him. Not when he’s spent weeks courting dead ends and staking out the seedier parts of town until he finally scraped together enough information for Satsuki to triangulate the location of their headquarters. He deserves this, after the last few nights dozing in cramped, rusty fire escapes, in the hopes of catching an unsuspecting pusher on their home turf.

"Promise me I can get my own next time, ok? Or else I'm going to be really angry with Aominecchi," Kise mock-scolds, sounding far too cheerful.

Then he turns around and kicks the door in with more grace than anyone else Daiki's seen kick in a door, ever.

A crash and several panicked shouts are heard from deep within the warehouse, followed by the thundering of running footsteps.

"You gave us away, idiot!" Daiki growls and slams the grip of the Dominator into the back of Kise’s head.

Kise pouts, says something inane about wanting to look cool. Daiki doesn’t catch it, because Midorima is in his ear, snapping at him to get his dog under control or so help him god do you want to be reassigned to the Archival Division for the rest of your short, pathetic life.

Daiki yanks his earpiece out with a snarl of irritation.

“Come on,” he hisses, pressing himself flat against the corrugated iron of the outer wall. “We gotta bag more than Midorima or else we’ll be on desk duty for weeks.”

“Nooo, I hate desk duty, it’s so boring,” Kise whines, but he slinks obediently into position on the other side of the doorway.

“You’ll never see daylight again,” Daiki threatens, to motivate.

The effect of his words is immediate and it almost makes him laugh. The Dominator starts to warm up again, picking up on what seems to be Kise's virulent hatred of paperwork and tedium. All of Daiki’s training tells him to eradicate Kise on the spot, with a co-efficient spiking that high over _desk duty_ , but Daiki only switches the Dominator to his other hand, to keep some distance. There's the sound of a window breaking, Midorima’s tinny voice blaring from the earpiece he stuffed inside his breast pocket, the clink of the handcuffs Kise is twirling on a finger.

Daiki feels himself grinning, inexplicably. Everything is pin-sharp, in bright focus.

“Keep your head, newbie. Let’s move.”

 

* * *

 

Say what you will about Akashi Seijuurou--and Daiki can think of many things: suffers from Napoleon complex, should be kept away from sharp objects, most likely to name his children after Shogi pieces--but he knows how to put together a monstrously effective team. It's a new record, even for the Unit. Thirteen in under twenty minutes.

"You're being a sore loser, Midorimacchi."

“The last two would have been mine, if you hadn’t--"

“I wouldn’t have to resort to tackling targets and getting in your way if you would just let me have my own gun. It’s not fair.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s fair. I should have you executed for insubordination.”

“Midorimacchi is as pleasant as always.”

Kise and Midorima are still going at it after the last of the apprehended targets ducks into the prisoner transport van. Daiki gets a clear look at the target’s bruised face and the eye that is already swelling shut, courtesy of Kise slamming him face first into the ground. He's still recognizable as the asshole who gave him the slip three weeks ago, though, in the Shinjuku crowds. Daiki flips him off lazily.

Most of the others are slumped against each other, unconscious, having been on the receiving end of either Midorima or Daiki’s paralyzer shots (mostly Daiki’s, because he’s better, quicker). The evidence--dozens of cases of it, the majority psychotropic, black market value some incomprehensible sum with so many digits in it that Daiki stopped listening before Midorima finished rattling them all off--go in another truck to the Bureau. Daiki yawns, stretching. It had been a good night, by all counts.

He slides off the hood of the car, the Dominator weighing on his belt like an afterthought. He unholsters it and, out of curiosity, levels it again at Kise, who is brazenly examining the look of dark indignation on Midorima’s face up close.

_Crime co-efficient over 120. Enforcement mode is non-lethal paralyzer. The safety will be released._

The trigger is unlocked but the muzzle doesn’t open, stays dark. Daiki’s not sure if he should be flattered or terrified that Kise only seems to cross the line between latency and flat-out menace when in Daiki's presence. Probably terrified, but honestly he’s just amused. Kise is amusing. He returns the Dominator to the waiting drone and lets it roll back around to the back of the car and dock itself in the trunk.

Kise yelps in pain as Midorima twists his ear, like he’s punishing a child. Daiki supposes he should do something before Midorima decides to send their newest Enforcer back to rehab, or shoot him. Kise hadn’t been half bad tonight, Daiki has to admit, barring that mishap with the door. He might even work out, if he could rein in his enthusiasm, tamp down on the glimmering, especially when cuffing people.

“Suck it up, Midorima,” Daiki intervenes. So full of mercy today. “You lost. Have fun processing this lot.”

“I would’ve had to do it anyway, since you never submit your paperwork on time.” Midorima is seething and even the tape around his fingers is unraveling. He lets Kise go.

“I’m hungry,” Kise declares, rubbing gingerly at his ear.

Midorima cuts him a disbelieving glare before ordering Daiki to return Kise to “the kennel” for the night. He stalks away in a huff. His lucky charm of the day-- an anthropomorphic dango--swings ferociously from one of his belt loops.

Kise turns to Daiki, smiling.

“Don’t you try that on me, I’m not a nurse,” Daiki says, opening the door to the driver's seat. “Maji Burger. Enforcers buy.”

He lets Kise choose the radio station. They should stop for some beer to bring back to the Bureau too, so they can celebrate with Satsuki, who will be waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing to say for myself
> 
> (i do recommend checking out psycho-pass! if you don't mind gore and body horror)


	2. martyr complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> momoi doesn't have one

There's a stray cat she likes to visit behind the office building on Third and down that side street there's a hole-in-the wall ramen shop that has the best vegetarian broth and she never has to wait for the light to change at the next intersection over and Midorin had said taking an odd number of left turns is good luck for Tauruses who are born in May.

That's what she tells him but she doesn't need to tell him anything. Dai-chan doesn't question her. Dai-chan is a good person. Sometimes he even pitches in for the cat treats, though he claims to be a dog person, and that makes her want to press the ridge of his knuckles to her lips, and close her eyes against the blur of her vision.

The day he passes the aptitude test for Inspector, he meets her behind the test center and they take the same circuitous route home. He remembered to heat up the milk in the break room before leaving, even though she didn't email him a reminder. He hands her the bottle from the deep pocket of his coat and she settles for warm glass instead of the warmth of his hand.

"Congratulations," she says. "I knew you could do it."  
  
He grunts, but she can tell he's pleased. Her world is ending, very quickly.  
  
She reminds herself not to be selfish, not when he's already taking the next corner without her nudging him, and cutting diagonally across the street to the alley between the Mongolian barbeque place and the new Vienna-style cafe.  
  
They've been doing this for weeks, ever since she hacked into the system-- fell into it innocently enough after too much digging, she never could help herself, she always had to know-- and felt her stress levels spike, kicked up in the wake of her heart racing horror. They've been doing this long enough for even someone like Dai-chan, who thinks of nothing but eating and playing basketball in his free time, to memorize these precise, weaving steps. There are blind spots all over Tokyo and it's a simple matter to map them all.  
  
"Look," he says. "Stupid thing is already waiting for us."  
  
The windows of the office building are mostly dark, but some still stand out in the night as sharp, bright squares. The cat is sitting under a broken street lamp, swishing her tail.  
  
She pours the milk out into the plastic bowl she brought with her. Dai-chan says, "You know you're not supposed to give cats milk."  
  
"It's ok," she says. "She seems fine, doesn't she?"  
  
He shrugs and stands by, pretending to be bored.  
  
"Let's take the train home," she tells him, after the cat has licked the bowl clean. She pours the rest of the milk before twisting the cap back on and slipping the bottle into his pocket. "I'm tired today and I don't feel like walking," she says.  
  
"Won't that be the wrong number of left turns.” He raises an eyebrow at her. "You'll offend Midorima."  
  
She reads the surprise in his voice, though he tries to hide it.  
  
She laughs. "I'll wear my lucky jade bracelet tomorrow.”

"Maybe we should go shopping," he hedges awkwardly. "Hasn't it been a while since you dragged me to buy new shoes or whatever?"

"That would be nice," she says.  
  
Tomorrow, very early in the morning, they come to take her away. They knock softly on her door, but when she opens it she sees they have their Dominators out and ready. The sight of them at the door makes her mother weep, still in her pajamas and missing her slippers. Satsuki has nothing in the way of comfort, only guilt, dark and blooming.  
  
She feels the heat of Dai-chan's stare smolder between her shoulder blades when they walk her out of their apartment complex in handcuffs.  
  
For the first few days, she has no visitors. Then her father shows up, sliding into the seat on the other side of the glass, looking pressed and sad. He doesn't mention her mother, doesn't say much of anything at all,  _except get better soon, Satsuki_ , as if they quarantine people here for simple colds. She doesn't know if Dai-chan has come to see her, but they wouldn't let him anyway, since he isn't blood.

She is expecting him, though. In the meantime, she plans.

Someone her age is put in the cell across from hers. She recognizes him from the billboards, even without the make-up and the airbrushing. They smile at each other in the mornings. He looks bored most of the time. She lets him borrow her basketball magazines, shuttled between their cells by the nurses he’s managed to charm.

She leaves him a note nestled in the pages of the latest Monthly Basket: _when I get out of here, I’ll definitely take Ki-chan with me_.  
  
She has an eye for potential. He will be useful.

When she finally sees Dai-chan again he's sleek in his new black suit and the badge in his pocket sits over his heart like a shield. But he still can't tie a tie properly and there is cat hair all over his sleeve, and that makes her want to cry, makes her want to kiss his hand.  
  
"You let yourself get scanned," he says, sounding sick. His voice comes from the intercom and not his mouth. "You knew. I shouldn't have let you take the train that night."  
  
He's angry, but not at her. Dai-chan is a good person, the truest person she knows. Even when he doesn't say sorry, he means it.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me," he demands. “What happened? You can tell me anything."  
  
She doesn't like telling him no, but it’s not the time. Not when his badge is new and he has yet to make his bones and she doesn't have a plan in place to dismantle all of Japan. She will, in time, once she gathers more intel, but first she needs to get out and keep Dai-chan safe, keep him on her side-- everything else comes after.  
  
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asks around the knot in her throat.  
  
“No,” he answers vehemently. “Satsuki, I know you. The Sibyl system must have made a mistake.”  
  
“Sibyl is absolute,” she interjects urgently. It turns her stomach to say it. She goes on. “It doesn’t make mistakes. You can’t think that. You’re an Inspector now.”  
  
“They wouldn’t let me see you otherwise! But I didn’t want to, Satsuki. Not anymore, with you locked up like this.”  
  
He looks down and she holds her breath for what he will say next. But he only shrugs, no blame or bitterness or disgust, and-- she’s so selfish, she can’t help it, the way her shoulders fold and she comes apart and starts to cry, so hungry for this kindness she doesn't deserve that she hates herself for it.  
  
“You did the right thing,” she sobs into her hands, desperate for him to believe her and to stay who he is, unchanged, perfect,  _good_. “Dai-chan will be a great Inspector. I’m the one who’s--”  
  
“Hey,” he says, panicked. He leans forward and presses his hand against the glass. “ _Satsuki_.”  
  
There’s an army of words in her defense already rallying on his tongue and she deserves none of them. She shakes her head and he shuts his mouth, sits back and waits for her to swallow down the storm. His hand stays where it is.  
  
She gulps down the filtered, recycled air. She smiles, for his sake. “Listen carefully, ok, Dai-chan? You can get me out of here."  
  
A month later she meets Akashi Seijuurou and sees him for what he is at first glance. The fear curls her hands into fists. She is thankful for the glass between them. She tells herself there is no other way. She can't rot in here.  
  
He flicks her file open carelessly. She holds herself trembling and breathless.  
  
"Momoi Satsuki," Akashi says at length. "Daiki tells me you'd like to work for us."


	3. the oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sibyl speaks; midorima takes notes

"You don't have to," Takao says slowly. He sounds like he's trying to talk down a child on the verge of a temper tantrum. Shintarou does not appreciate the tone. "You got an A-ranking for every single ministry. Have you looked beyond the first result? Look. Straight down the list. As expected of Shin-chan."

Takao gestures to the projection from his CommuWatch. Shintarou regrets emailing Takao a copy of his rankings.

"Unnecessary," Shintarou snaps.

"You're being ridiculous." Takao hangs off him, and Shintarou stops before the wall of vending machines by their station, all chrome and bright plastic, humming soft. "Seriously," Takao tries again.

"Stop it, we're in public." He wards Takao off with a jabby elbow. Takes his glasses off, inspects the lenses for nonexistent smudges. His eyes feel dry, his eyelids heavy.

"You know who else is becoming an Inspector?" Takao needles, even as he fishes around in his pocket for his debit card. "That Aomine guy you hate so much."

Takao taps his card against the pay pad and presses the button for shiruko with a knuckle. Shintarou has a moment of weakness, flashing back to the first time he met Aomine, who had been sleeping and drooling on Shintarou's favorite weight bench at the gym near the university. Aomine has never even thanked Takao for stopping Shintarou from dropping a 20kg iron plate on his stomach that day, and all the days since. Shintarou continues to get his psycho-pass reexamined after each encounter with Aomine and his insistence on being the most infuriating person this side of the Hue gradient.

Still, he manages to quash all thoughts of rebellion in the time it takes the shiruko can to thump itself into the port.

"Doesn't matter. Sibyl has decided."

"You don't even like guns," Takao sighs. But he tosses Shintarou the can, and starts his way down to the rumbling underground. "At least promise me we'll still get Korean on the weekends, Inspector."

* * *

His sister says, "Nii-chan knows best."

Shintarou watches her face on the screen, the way her eyes search his; reads the undercurrent of doubt in the waveforms of her voice, the long stretches of flatline unfurling.

"But are you sure—" she starts at the same moment his pride allows him the room to ask, "Do you think—"

They both stop. He turns away from the video feed to check the timer on the cooker. Two minutes left.

She defers to him. "Do I think what, nii-chan?" she asks.

"I've made up my mind, you know." He ought to remind her, to save her from taking on the same burden Takao had, of putting his world back on its axis for him. "Sibyl is irreproachable."

"Yes," she says.

He takes a glass down from the cupboard and fills it at the water dispenser. Puts it down on the counter. Thinks again and moves it to the table. Takes the pair of chopsticks from the dishwasher and places them next to his glass. Straightens them. His sister is patient.

"But do you think," he says, pauses.

The cooker beeps three times, then goes on standby.

He says, "Do you think they—mother and father—they wouldn't be disappointed."

"Never," she says. "No matter what you choose, they will be proud of you."

His sister is magnanimous. Always has been. Wherever his parents went wrong in raising him, they figured out when it came to her, and for that he is grateful. She is a much better person than he is, to know when to lie, or try, even now, when behind her in the hallway hangs a framed picture of Shintarou, five, in his mother's lab coat, immaculate. Playing savior. The stethoscope dragging by his feet.

"Worried, maybe," she concedes. He catches her frown at the peripheral of his vision. "We want you to be happy."

"It's the best course of action," he dodges. "I scored highest for the Public Safety Bureau."

"That's within the Ministry of Welfare, right?" She hesitates. "So is the Bureau for Medicine."

"That was my second highest," he says. "Not first. Therefore not best."

The cooker beeps again and Shintarou imagines it sounds more insistent. He goes to remove his dinner of white rice—a rare indulgence, real rice, not the bland, mealy strain derived from hyper-oats—and grilled saba. A bowl of shiruko for dessert. The steam fogs his glasses as he takes his seat. The holo-screen swivels around the kitchen to hover across the table from him. His sister watches him break up the rice with his chopsticks.

"Nii-chan knows best," she says again.

"Let me check over your math homework. You shouldn't slack just because I'm not at home anymore." 

* * *

It's an Enforcer who greets him at the training facility on the first day. Shintarou recognizes him from the email briefs sent last week. He's more monstrous in person, not least because Shintarou has not had to look up to meet anyone's eye since high school.

"You're very punctual," says Murasakibara. "Akachin will like that."

"Who," says Shintarou.

"Wow. Maybe you're not as smart as Akachin says."

"You mean Akashi." Shintarou is grasping. Nothing about the Akashi Seijuurou he knows calls for the diminutive. Factors like height are negligible when you skyrocket straight to Chief of the PSB.

"S'what I said."

Shintarou decides it not in his best interest to argue such trivialities. He follows after Murasakibara, who could easily leave him behind if his gait were less shuffle and more stride. As it is, Murasakibara is in no hurry and the gleaming hallway seems endless. Shintarou fixes his tie, glances at his watch, stifles a sigh.

"You don't look very excited to be here," Murasakibara breaks the lull, ambling past the sixth identical door on their left.

"Look who's talking. And I'll do my job well, if that's what you're insinuating. Don't forget you'll be answering to me."

Murasakibara hums. "Got it, Midochin."

"Don't call me that. We're not friends. I have no wish to fraternize with the likes of you."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'the likes of you,'" demands a voice that scrapes the inside of Shintarou's skull.

The room they've entered is long with high ceilings, no windows, only blank monitors adorning the walls. A conference table stretches the length of it, the seats empty except for one.

"Aomine," Shintarou says. "Where's your keeper?"

Aomine shoots to his feet and looks like he's about to launch himself across the table at him. Murasakibara does not seem inclined to intervene, except to say, offhandedly, "Akachin doesn't like fighting."

"Akashi can go—" Aomine catches himself. Reevaluates. After a beat, he sits down again and kicks his feet up onto the table. Basketball shoes. Unbelievable. "Whatever. I'm not going to get kicked out just because you're an asshole."

"Why do you care what I say about latent criminals like Murasakibara. Sibyl's already deemed them unfit for society."

"Midochin is annoying," Murasakibara offers mildly.

"Well, I do care!" Aomine snarls. "So shut your mouth! You and your stupid Sibyl don't know shit."

"Ah," Murasakibara says before Shintarou can retaliate. "Akachin."

It's ridiculous for the room to feel suddenly colder, and smaller, but it does.

"Hello." Akashi Seijuurou smiles at them from the door. "Daiki. Shintarou. I don't believe I've seen either of you since graduation."

If Aomine is as offended as Shintarou is at Akashi's uninvited use of their given names, he only shows it with an eye roll and an ironic, "Morning, Chief," and a terse, "We gonna get started?"

Akashi looks at Aomine. Aomine grudgingly slides his feet to the floor. They sit. Akashi turns his eyes on him.

"I must confess my surprise, Shintarou. I thought you wanted to pursue medicine."

Surprise is the last thing Shintarou reads in Akashi's expression. Words like "think" and "believe" have no place in Akashi's vocabulary, adopted only out of amusement. Akashi _knows_. Everyone knows Akashi knows. Shintarou finds this affectation newly infuriating, uncomfortable.

"Yes, well." Shintarou straightens his spine. "Sibyl said otherwise."

The feeling that Akashi knows more than you is one everyone is familiar with, but Shintarou can't shake the unease that's started to circle him, pressing closer. He can't help but wonder now, about Akashi's appointment to chief before any of them had taken Sibyl's judgment, Akashi's departure from school before their last semester, Akashi showing up at graduation only to put in an appearance as the keynote speaker and to receive his diploma, as a formality. Shintarou's shogi evenings with him had tapered off months before then, and he hadn't thought twice about their paths crossing again except in those especially bitter moments regretting not having the chance to finally win a game.

But now here they are.

By Sibyl's decree, Shintarou reminds himself. Akashi would not be here otherwise; not even Akashi can manipulate the system, absolute though he believes himself to be. And Shintarou is here because Sibyl is all he knows to be right and good and Sibyl had said he will be an Inspector before anything else and Shintarou will not stray. His parents will understand. He is no longer five and naive.

"You will realize your fullest potential here, with me," Akashi decides, and it sounds to Shintarou as if Akashi is speaking with all the authority of Sibyl like a mantle on his shoulders, all of Sibyl's foresight behind his eyes, yellow and red, unfamiliar.

Presumptuous, Shintarou thinks.

Aomine scoffs. Shintarou worries loose the tape around his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that akashi seijuurou what a dick right


	4. halcyon days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> murasakibara decides to let kise live

"You didn't get them," he says. A feeling rises into his chest. Tight and black and roaring. Akashi taught him the name for this one. It's called betrayed.

"I didn't have time! Aominecchi wouldn't let me stop at the store!"

"But you got beer."

Kise snatches the six-pack out of sight. "Different store," Kise says.

"And I can smell Maji Burger on you."

"No—well, yes. The standard post-drug bust celebratory meal. We just closed a huge case, you know! Midorimacchi, how many kilos was it—"

"Then you just forgot." The tight black roaring feeling curdles. "My limited edition Mont Blanc maiubo. It won't be available anywhere after this week. I've never had Mont Blanc before."

The elaboration is tiring but necessary. He doesn't trust Kise to fully grasp the severity of his transgression. Kise doesn't know fear enough.

"It's not that great," Kise mumbles. "All that cream, so fattening."

Atsushi wants to crush him. Atsushi will crush him. Atsushi knows where Kise sleeps.

"I don't care what you Enforcers do to each other," Midorima interrupts, headless behind the computer monitors at his desk. "But I don't want to have to clean anything up in the morning."

"Midorimacchi," Kise whines.

"I'll be confiscating the alcohol too. That's contraband. Bad enough Aomine kept you out after curfew without proper clearance. Where is he, anyway? He has to sign you back in."

"Reporting to Akashicchi in the conference room," Kise answers absently. He's giving Atsushi a look like he's sizing him up. Which is stupid. Atsushi is way bigger, clearly. But he lets Kise carefully edge around him and towards the door.

There are only so many places Kise can run when confined to the CID. He'll tire himself out eventually, and Atsushi will be there, the moment Kise falls asleep. No struggle.

"I'll do it then," says Midorima's disembodied voice. "Come here."

Kise makes no move towards Midorima and his eyes don't leave Atsushi. Midorima registers the uncharacteristic silence too late. He stands from his chair just as Kise turns on his heel to bolt.

"Kise!"

"I'm sorry! Aominecchi will kill me if I let you have it!"

Midorima scrambles through the maze of desks and barrels into the hallway. His head whips between Kise's diminishing back and Atsushi standing just inside the door. Midorima points at him, looking like he wants to say something, but his jaw is clamped too tight. Oh, Atsushi recognizes that emotion too. The color rising to Midorima's face, the eye twitch, the shaking. Fury.

Midorima lets out a high, strangled noise and pulls at his hair. Definitely fury. Two for two, Atsushi scores himself. Akashi will be proud.

"He's getting away, Midochin."

"Shut up!" Midorima screeches. He whips around and finally takes off after Kise, his tie flopping like a tongue over his shoulder, his footsteps sending reverberations under Atsushi's feet.

"Kise, so help me god, I will have you decommissioned and hauled back to rehab by the ear!"

The office is empty. Atsushi goes to Kise's desk, uncaps the bottle of mineral water and upends it into Kise's drawer.

* * *

"Mukkun," Momoi greets him cheerfully.

Kise chokes. Atsushi ignores him for now.

"Sachin, you are harboring a fugitive."

"Aw, don't hurt Ki-chan." Her cheeks are pink. Atsushi smells the malt in the air. Looks like Midorima never did catch up to Kise and not even Midorima would barge into Momoi's quarters uninvited. She's an Enforcer but she's also a lady. For some reason beyond Atsushi's understanding, that matters.

"Don't hurt me," Kise echoes. "I'm sorry. Listen, I can make it up to you!"

"Listening," Atsushi says. "But be quick. I'm sleepy."

"OK—I have all these gifts from fans of my CommuField, the usual virtual junk everyone sends, but also vouchers that you can redeem for things offline, like snacks! They locked my CommuField after the arrest, but my account is still there. Momoicchi can hack into it—" Momoi salutes neatly. "—and transfer the vouchers to you, and you can get all the maiubo you want! You can have them sent to the Bureau under Aominecchi's name. He never reads anything, he'll just sign for them."

"Sad, but true," Momoi agrees solemnly.

Kise beams expectantly at him.

Atsushi blinks. "What's a CommuField."

Their expressions go blank for a moment before morphing into something else. Atsushi tries to place it. It's not exasperation. Something less angry than that, or not angry at all. It reminds him of the look the nice nurse used to give him, before he grew tall enough and big enough to scare even the older children at the facility. A soft look, where the eyebrows draw up in the middle instead of down. Lingering instead of flashing sharp.

It's no good. He doesn't know. It'll be a question for Akashi later.

"Mukkun," Momoi says. She puts a hand on his arm, gentle. This is an unfamiliar gesture too.

"What," he says, annoyed. Annoyance is good and safe. He holds onto it.

"Ah, never mind." Kise smiles but Atsushi can tell uncertainty when he sees it. It's the same as weakness. They won't meet Atsushi's eyes. "The important thing is that I'll get you your snacks. Sorry again, Murasakibaracchi."

Kise's never called him that before. Atsushi's not sure he likes this new development. No, he's absolutely feeling queasy now.

"Why would anyone ever give you gifts," he asks suspiciously. "Kisechin is gross."

"Huh?!"

He leaves Momoi to tend to a fallen Kise. It's almost three in the morning. Atsushi is too tired to think about this new feeling, like a light flickering inside him, on and then off and then on and then dark.

* * *

He wakes up to his phone buzzing under his pillow. The lights in his room are on, which means it's already past seven AM. His phone blinks Akashi's name at him.

"Akachin," he yawns.

"You wanted to speak with me, Atsushi?"

He doesn't exactly know how Akashi always knows. He suspects it has to do with all the voices talking in Akashi's head, whispering things, demanding things, arguing. He wonders how Akashi ever sleeps with all those people screaming all the time, wonders how Akashi keeps it secret when Atsushi would be threatening everyone to make it stop or else.

"Mn," he says. "Will you be coming into the office today?"

"Unfortunately not."

No explanation is forthcoming, but Atsushi isn't expecting one. Still, he pauses.

Then, "Kisechin called me Murasakibaracchi."

"Is that so," says Akashi.

"After I said I didn't know what a CommuField was. He and Sachin got a weird look on their faces. What's the big deal, anyway? We didn't have things like that in the facility. I'm not stupid. Kisechin is stupid."

"They don't think you're stupid." It's so quiet on Akashi's end. Atsushi can hear Akashi's breathing, but he might be imagining it. "It just makes them uncomfortable that you don't know. Do you know why that is, Atsushi?"

"Because everyone should know?"

"Yes."

"Because if I didn't grow up in the facility, I would know too?"

"Yes."

Atsushi considers this, but it's slow going with sleep still pulling him down. He gets it, eventually. "And now that they're the same as me, they think the isolation facilities are bad. We might be bad but what they do—what Akachin does—to people like us is worse. It makes them feel better to believe that."

"Very good," says Akashi. "You don't like Ryouta's name for you."

"No, I hate it. Why do I hate it?"

"You think he gave it to you out of pity."

"Pity," he repeats. That's a new one he has to remember. The thought of it brings back that flickering feeling from last night. "Yes, that's what I thought. It makes me feel sick. But that's wrong, isn't it? He doesn't feel pity for you or Midochin or Minechin. So that means he respects me now too, or something. Because now he's the same as me."

"Yes."

Atsushi frowns. The flickering stops, wiped away by the familiar surge of annoyance. It's comforting, almost.

"I don't care," he says. "I still hate it, because it's Kisechin. Make him stop."

"It's a good thing. You're becoming a team."

"I'm going to kill him if Akachin doesn't make him stop." Atsushi scowls. He knows Akashi will see it somehow, so he puts real effort into it.

"Go have breakfast, Atsushi."

* * *

Despite Akashi ordering him out of bed, he's the last to lumber into the office. He almost walks out again upon being blinded by the full blazing force of Kise-in-the-morning-with-a-mission, when Kise wears that expression that he thinks makes him look endearing and irresistible but really it reminds Atsushi of a puppy and Atsushi can't think of what to do with puppies other than to kick them.

But then he sees the white box on his desk, tied with white and green striped twine. It's about as big as his hand. There's an embossed logo on the lid, a quatrefoil around the words Pasticceria Rocco in curling Latin letters.

"I don't know anything about Italian shit," he hears Aomine whisper loudly. "If it's the wrong one, don't blame me."

"How, when I sent you pictures!" Kise whispers back, equally unsubtle. "Anyway, shut up now, Aominecchi."

Atsushi pulls the twine loose and flips the lid open.

"Surprise!" Kise crows. 

Atsushi recognizes it from the maiubo advertisements, though it looks impossibly more decadent in person. Resting on a circle of reflective gold foil, yellow cake under white cream under smooth, swirling chestnut puree, soft and light and dusted with sugar like snow, like a mountain top, he understands now the name, and it smells like everything he's since forgotten, like his memories of before the facility, before all he knew became synthetic and chalky and bland, this smells like what real must smell like, like what used to be when he was still small and warm and secure, before he wouldn't stop growing, before he went hungry and tired and so  _angry_ , smells like whatever was wrapped in the cloth his mother put into his hands before they took him away, that something he never got to eat because he had dropped it when they jostled him onto the truck and then it was just blood in his mouth instead. It smells like everything he knew before that moment of blood, before all those hands pounding on the outside of the truck as it drove away, begging for him.

He blinks.

"One of these every day, and Kisechin can live," he says.

"Haha, that's funny, Murasakibaracchi," Kise says with a dismissive flip of his hand, going to his station.

He slips on the puddle underneath his desk and narrowly avoids cracking his skull open. Atsushi, after a surprised examination of himself, finds no disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for murasakibara i had to assume that in canon he had a happy, spoiled home life. being the youngest of seven he must have been the one everyone doted on and he seemed accustomed to a never-ending supply of snacks. yeah i took that away in this au. things are tough all around in pp.
> 
> i also started imagining how bright and flashy and egotistical kise's commufield must have been like, and ended up pissing myself off. which is par for course how i feel about kise in general. how do i quit you kise
> 
> i'm starting a big project soon, so this might be the last chapter for a while, unless i find myself self-destructive enough to write fic as a way of procrastinating writing other fic
> 
> in the meanwhile, thoughts and concrit are always, always welcome :)


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